Harry Potter and the Anti-Cupboard League
by bpbookworm
Summary: Harry Potter was never meant to be an Auror. At Hermione's suggestion, he takes up a different profession, one that returns him home-to Hogwarts. But the position was never meant to be easy, and this new chapter of Harry's life has a plethora of challenges he never thought he'd have to face.
1. An Opening at Hogwarts

Chapter One

Harry James Potter was utterly exhausted.

He sat slumped behind his desk, a mountain of paperwork before him. He rubbed at his scar, though the mark hadn't troubled him for years, and sighed.

A knock on the door drew him from his thoughts, and he sat up. "Come in."

A short, bushy haired woman entered, shutting the door carefully behind her. "Hello, Harry," she said brightly.

"Hermione," said Harry. "What brings you here?"

She approached his desk, picked up one of the papers from his stack, and looked at it. "Harry," she said, "I don't think this is going to work."

"What?"

"This! It's two years since you were made an Auror-you're barely twenty and it's killing you, really it is." She crossed her arms, looking down at him.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It's my job, Hermione. I don't have to like it. Besides, what else would I do? I was practically raised to kill Voldemort. Now he's gone, I consider it my duty to see his Death Eaters in Azkaban."

"That's just it," said Hermione sadly. "It's not your fight, not anymore. Voldemort is dead, thanks to you. You've done your part. Don't you see?"

He looked up at her face, her eyes desperate.

"Since Voldemort died, we've caught most of his Death Eaters. It's still vital that we catch them, but this-" she gestured to his cluttered desk "-isn't helping anyone. You deserve a break."

Harry wanted to protest, but he couldn't think of a decent argument. Finally, he sighed. "Oh, Hermione. You always know what to say." He smiled. "You really are a know-it-all."

She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was delighted. "I've got just the place for you," she said, beaming at him. "Professor McGonagall is having some trouble filling a teaching spot at Hogwarts-how would you like to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts next year?"

* * *

The following afternoon, Harry found himself standing at the gates just outside Hogwarts, having Apparated to Hogsmeade and walked the rest of the way. He wore his robes from his eighth year, though they were tight around his stomach-a Muggle suit would have been too formal, and his Auror robes made him feel conspicuous outside the office. The sweaters and jeans he wore in his free time wouldn't have fit the bill for an interview with McGonagall.

Swallowing, he adjusted his red and gold tie and watched Filch hobble down the path, toward the gate. As usual, the Squib muttered to Mrs. Norris, who walked, tail upright, by his side. When he reached the gate, he looked Harry up and down.

"Haven't seen you in some time" he said, leering. "Things are a lot quieter with you gone, they are indeed… What brings you here, anyway?"

"I-" Harry's throat had gone dry. He cleared it and said, "I want to apply for Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" It came out as a question, but the caretaker's eyes narrowed anyway.

"You don't say." He pulled out a key and let Harry in, still eyeing him. "Don't try anything," he warned. "I remember-oh yes, I remember what you were like as a student. Not too long ago, was it, Mrs. Norris?" he muttered as they made their way back up the path. "Not too long ago indeed."

He continued in this way until they reached the Great Hall, and Harry made his escape with as much diplomacy as he could muster. "Thanks for your help," he said quickly. "I better hurry-" And he made his way to the Headmistress's office.

The large, ugly gargoyle didn't move as he approached. From his pocket, Harry withdrew a bit of parchment given to him by Hermione, and scanned it for the password. Like Dumbledore, McGonagall made use of wizarding candies as her passwords, and after a moment Harry said, "Licorice wand!"

The gargoyle jumped suddenly out of the way, and the wall split in half, just as it had on Harry's first trip to the Headmaster's office. He smiled ruefully, remembering how Fawkes had burst into flame in his presence, and how frightened he'd been. The staircase moved steadily upward, and Harry hurried up to the griffin door-funny how that sounded like Gryffindor-and pounded the brass knocker.

The door opened, just enough for Harry to slip through, then slid closed, and he felt suddenly trapped. Was he sure he wanted to do this? Certainly he'd enjoyed teaching back in fifth year, when the stakes had been high, with Umbridge looming. But-him? Teaching, in a real classroom, with attentive students watching him, judging him? He shuddered, but it was too late to back out now.

Professor McGonagall sat behind the high wooden desk that had once been Dumbledore's. Her spectacles were perched on the end of her long, hooked nose, and she peered down at him. "Mr. Potter," said McGonagall. "Miss Granger told me to expect you. Please, have a seat."

Her sharp eyes had lost none of their intensity, and Harry found himself sitting obediently across from her. "It's weird, being back," said Harry.

"I imagine so," said Professor McGonagall. "But before we begin-how are you?"

He paused, taken aback. "I'm well, Professor. And, er, how are you?"

"Well," she said. "Not much has changed for me these past few years, I'm afraid. But you're an Auror now. I take it that's not going well."

"Professor?"

"Since you're here, Mr. Potter, you're obviously interested in a different career than the one you already have."

He supposed she was right, and said, "I like being an Auror-well, okay, I don't like it much. It feels like a duty, you know? I was practically raised to kill Voldemort." It was the same thing he'd told Hermione. "I've always had to be the hero, and I don't know how to stop." He couldn't meet Professor McGonagall's eyes-he'd never admitted that to anybody. "I was Dumbledore's pawn, and now I'm the Minister's," he said, surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

McGonagall was quiet for a moment, then said, "Harry…" -she never called him by his first name, this was strange- "you've endured so much, for one so young. Honestly, I think this position would be perfect for you. You can train the next generation to be better defended from people like Voldemort, even ensure that we don't ever have another Dark Lord. Tom Riddle was not a good person to begin with, but the prejudice against Slytherin shaped him into Voldemort." She paused. "I hope I'm not too forward in saying that you could bring the four Houses together, and prevent anything like him from happening ever again."

Harry's mouth was dry, and he didn't-couldn't-respond. He just nodded.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Now, Mr. Potter, I presume you want to get to the interview?"

"Er, yes, Professor."

"Very well."

She asked him a series of questions about his work experience and aptitude, things she undoubtedly knew but wanted to hear him say. Harry recounted the past two years as an Auror, working alongside Ron Weasley and answering to Kingsley, the Minister for Magic. Once he was finished, McGonagall set down the long thin quill she held, and met his eyes.

"Harry Potter," she said slowly. "Are you aware of how many candidates have interviewed for this position?"

Harry frowned. "No." If she was asking, did that mean he wasn't in? He wasn't sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

"You're the first," said Professor McGonagall heavily. "Despite the fact that the curse on the position, if in fact there was one, has been lifted since Voldemort's death, I've still had to actively search out new teachers each year. Just last week was the third anniversary since the Battle of Hogwarts, and since then, we've had three new teachers, none of which has stayed." She paused, her gaze still intent on his. "Harry, if I give you this position, you must agree to teach for two years, at least. Of course, I'd prefer if you stay longer, but for now…"

Harry could hardly believe it. Hermione would be so proud. "Er, yeah. I mean, of course I'll stay."

Her thin lips curved into a smile. "Excellent, Mr. Potter. I'm delighted to hear it. I think it's only fitting, that you take on the post cursed by Voldemort all those years ago."

He nodded, still feeling stunned. "Okay," he said. "What do I need to do?"

She handed him a piece of parchment and a quill. "Sign there, and there," said Professor McGonagall, pointing.

Harry dipped the quill in her inkwell-it was shaped like a cat, which he found fitting-and signed his name. "Is that all?"

"That's all for now, Mr. Potter. You'll receive a notification by owl including the details of your post and the suggested course of study, although it will be up to you to determine how closely you follow it. I expect you to prepare a book list-your students will need at least one textbook-and a few preparatory lessons, which you'll send to me to review."

Suddenly this was feeling quite overwhelming, and she seemed to sense his apprehension.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter. You'll have me to help you every step of the way." Her eyes twinkled. "And the lovely Miss Granger, as well."

"Oh, no," Harry stammered, "it's not-we don't-Hermione and I are just friends."

She nodded. "I see. Well, Mr. Potter, do you have any other questions for me?"

"Er, I don't think so."

Professor McGonagall rose and offered him her hand. Harry stood too, and shook it. "I expect to hear from you shortly," she said, peering down at him. " _Professor_ Potter."

* * *

That afternoon, Harry let Kingsley know that he would not be staying on as an Auror come September.

"Ah, yes," said the Minister with a smile. "Miss Granger informed me that you would be interviewing with Minerva this morning. Defense Against the Dark Art professor-a fitting position for an ex-Auror, I think."

"So it's all right with you, then?" said Harry, feeling relieved.

"Certainly." Kingsley paused, thinking, then said: "I will expect you to finish your current assignments, and once those are completed, you ought to take some time to prepare for the school year."

"Er, okay," said Harry. "Thanks."

The Minister extended his hand for Harry to shake and said quietly, "I am thinking of moving on myself, now that things have quieted down in the wizarding world. Perhaps you might suggest to Miss Granger that she run for the position of Minister for Magic?"

"That," said Harry, "is an excellent idea." He released Kingsley's hand and headed for the door.

"And Harry?"

He turned.

"Congratulations. And good luck."

Harry smiled and left the room, heading for Hermione's office. The moment his hand made contact with the door, it was flung open, and Hermione appeared, beaming. She threw her arms around him.

"Oh, Harry!" she squealed. "Minerva owled me the moment you left her office. I'm so delighted!"

Harry hugged her, a bit taken aback. "Er, yeah," he said. "Rather exciting."

She pulled away, still grinning. "Dinner at my house tonight," she said. "I've already invited the old crew. Ron's already there-he loves to cook, you know-and we'll go help him if you're not busy."

Harry nodded.

"Oh, I just can't believe it," said Hermione. "It's too perfect." She led the way out of her office and started down the corridor.

"I should stop by my office and get Hedwig," he said suddenly. The original Hedwig had been killed by Death Eaters, but following the Battle of Hogwarts, he'd found a snowy owl quite similar in appearance and named him after her. It wasn't the same, but he'd come to love Hedwig Jr.

They entered his office and he picked up the cage. Hedwig hooted disdainfully. "I only left you in the office so you wouldn't be home alone," said Harry. "I asked Ron to check on you. If he didn't, don't take it out on me!"

The owl turned away from him, and Harry shook his head. Hermione watched, amused. "Is that everything you need?" she asked.

Harry grabbed his briefcase-he'd left it in here while he'd gone to find Kingsley-and shoved a few papers inside. "There. Let's go."

They hurried down the corridor to the lift. "Hello, Hannah!" Hermione greeted her as they passed. "Oh, good to see you again, Dean. And hey, Seamus."

"Hey, Hermione, Harry," said Seamus as they passed.

"Were they holding hands?" asked Harry.

"Of course," said Hermione. "They've been dating for months. Hadn't you noticed?"

Harry glanced back. "I guess not."

They stepped into the lift, which was empty except for a few memos, and Hermione pressed the button for the Atrium. On the second to bottom floor, more memos entered, and when they reached the Atrium, they all flew out. Harry and Hermione followed them out.

"Hello there, Harry and Hermione!" A red-haired wizard was waving at him from the other side of the fountain.

"Oh-hey, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, waving back.

"Heard you're the new Defense Professor at Hogwarts, Harry!" said Arthur Weasley, beaming.

"How did you-nevermind. That's right, Mr. Weasley."

"Excellent! You'll do wonderfully. And Miss Granger, how are you?"

"Well, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione.

"And will you be joining us for dinner tonight?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Hermione ducked her head. "Er, not tonight, Mr. Weasley."

"Quite all right, quite all right. You know you're both welcome at any time, of course."

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," they chorused.

He smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling merrily. "Well, I must be on my way. Have an excellent evening, both of you."

"The same to you, sir," said Harry, and Hermione nodded.

As Mr. Weasley hurried away, Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Merlin's beard," said Hermione. "That man has more energy than me, and he's well over twice my age!"

They hurried to a fireplace. "Ladies first," said Harry. "By the way, how are things with you and Ron?"

Hermione was blushing furiously as the fireplace whisked her away, and Harry laughed as he followed her. A hand on his shoulder made him pause.

"Potter," said a cool, silky voice behind him.

Without turning, Harry said, "Malfoy."

"I seem to have heard a rumor that you'll be teaching at Hogwarts next fall?" Draco Malfoy's voice sounded innocent enough, but Harry hadn't spoken to him in months. His long hair was tied into a ponytail, and he looked… happy. Less drained. Different.

"That's right," he said shortly. He didn't bother asking how he knew-everyone seemed to.

"Well, congratulations."

"Thank you."

Draco nodded and turned away.

"Malfoy-er, Draco?"

The pale-haired wizard looked over his shoulder.

"You're looking well."

A hint of a smile traced Draco's lips, and he nodded once before walking away.

Harry blinked, unsure what to think of the exchange, and stepped into the chimney, holding a picture of Hermione's house in his mind, and then he was whisked away.


	2. Draco's Confession

Chapter Two

Hermione's flat was located at Number 5, Brighton Place, on the top floor. Harry Apparated at the front of the building, just beyond the front step, and walked inside. He took the stairs to the third floor-the last one that could be accessed by Muggles-and pulled his wand from his robes. Then he tapped four bricks, each slightly off-color, in quick succession, and stepped back. Much like the wall in Diagon Alley, the bricks unfolded and slid into themselves until there was a pathway just large enough for Harry to walk through. He stepped inside. As the wall closed, he took the set of narrow, almost ladder-like steps to the door at the top, and knocked.

After a moment, it swung open. "Harry!" It was Hermione, looking relieved. "I wondered what happened to you. I would have waited, but-"

Ron Weasley stepped into view, his face covered in smoke, shirt and hair singed. "I had a bit of an accident," he confessed, grinning. "So I hear you're next year's Defense teacher?"

"That's right," said Harry. "You all right?"

Ron looked down at himself. "Fine, fine." With a wave of his wand, he fixed his shirt and cleaned off his face. "It's the food 'Mione was worried about."

Hermione scoffed. "I was worried about you, too, Ronald," she said. She took Hedwig's cage from Harry, and his briefcase. "I'll Floo these home for you. This is your party, after all." She smiled at him and left them in the entryway.

"Anyway, everyone's here except Ginny, now. She had a match yesterday with the Harpies, absolutely demolished the Chudley Cannons, and they were celebrating all night. She just owled me that she's on her way," said Ron as he led Harry into the main room.

On the sofa, Neville Longbottom leaned forward, his eyes intent on Luna, who was holding a copy of the Quibbler and speaking enthusiastically. And to her other side sat…

Draco Malfoy.

"How did he beat me here?" asked Harry under his breath to Ron.

"What d'you mean?"

"I was speaking to him, at the Ministry, right before I Disapparated," said Harry. "I don't understand how he could have gotten here so quickly."

"Well, he Flooed in with Luna, I think," said Ron, scratching his head. "I didn't see them come in, but that would have given him direct access. You sort of went the long way."

"I s'pose." Harry stared at Draco. He couldn't help but feel that the other man was up to something-but perhaps that was just leftover animosity from their school days.

"Oh, Harry!" said Luna, noticing him. "Congratulations!'

She walked over and embraced him, her raven claw earring tickling his cheek.

Neville stood, too. "Well deserved, Harry," he said, holding out his hand. Harry shook it and smiled.

"Thanks, Neville. I hope to see you teaching Herbology in the next couple of years. I hear Sprout's thinking of entering an early retirement," said Harry with a wink.

Neville nodded. "I've been doing a lot of studying, lately," he started, but Hermione interrupted.

"Oh-Harry," she said, walking out of the kitchen. "You can take off your robes. You must be boiling!"

He tugged off his robes and hung them on a coatrack conjured by Hermione. He hadn't noticed that she'd changed, but she wore regular Muggle clothing just like the others-even Draco, which struck him as odd. He wore jeans and an emerald green long sleeved shirt, but the sleeves were rolled up just enough for Harry to see the edge of a black tattoo on his left arm.

Malfoy seemed to notice him staring, and self-consciously tugged his sleeves to his wrists as Neville recalled the studies he'd been engaging in recently in preparation for an opening at Hogwarts.

Then Ginny caused a bit of alarm by appearing suddenly in the fireplace.

"Dinnertime!" announced Ron, returning to the kitchen.

As Harry looked at her, the world seemed to tunnel. Her eyes were bright and eager and fierce as they met his, and without embarrassment she made her way over to him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, hard. He melted into the kiss, and when they parted all he could say was, "Gin…"

"I missed you, Harry," she murmured, her breath warm on his lips. Then she kissed him again.

When they broke apart a second time, the room came back into focus, and Harry cheeks burned. Ginny grinned mischievously up at him, then stepped away and took his hand. "Well," she said to the room, "good to see you lot again."

"Not so good to see that," drawled Draco from his spot on the sofa.

Then Ron burst in from the kitchen with plates of lasagna in either hand, and the tension in the room dispersed. Hermione followed him, levitating frothing mugs of Butterbeer, which she distributed to everyone. Once Draco had received the last plate of lasagna and they were all seated comfortably, Hermione raised her mug. "To Harry-the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts!"

"To Harry!" the rest chorused, and drank.

Harry felt at once flattered and overwhelmed. They expected him to measure up. To be as intelligent a teacher as Remus Lupin, as strict as Minerva McGonagall, as perceptive and kind as Albus Dumbledore. How could he, Harry, live up to those expectations? He wasn't like Neville-he didn't have years to prepare. He hardly had months. His only experience in teaching had occurred in his fifth year-Dumbledore's Army-and while that had turned out well, it had only been with a select few, who were already inclined to listen to what he had to say. If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

But he raised the mug to his lips and drank anyway.

* * *

By midnight, Neville and Ron had said their goodbyes and Flooed home. Draco was on the sofa with Luna, conversing quietly. Hermione was asleep in the armchair, and Ginny was dozing off on Harry's shoulder. When Luna stood up to take their empty firewhisky bottles to the trash bin, Draco turned his light gray eyes to Harry.

"I noticed you eyeing my Mark earlier," he said softly. "I want to show it to you, if that's all right?"

Harry blinked, surprised. "Er-I mean-all right."

Draco hooked a long, pale finger on the opening of his left sleeve and pulled it up to his elbow. On his arm, there was a tattoo-but it was hardly recognizable as the Dark Mark it had once been. Not only had the skull and snake faded to a light gray, but there were designs spiraled across it-flowers whose petals spun slowly; little blue and red birds which flapped tiny wings; leaves and whorls that covered the rest. The tattoo's design was expert and easily identifiable-there was only one artist who could have done it.

"Luna," breathed Harry. Shortly after leaving Hogwarts and helping her father rebuild their home (Harry had been partially responsible for destroying it, but she'd forgiven him), Luna had opened a tattoo parlor in Diagon Alley. Dozens of witches and wizards had gotten memorabilia representing lost loved ones, and Harry knew of at least three former Death Eaters who, upon their release from the Ministry of Magic, had tattooed over their Dark Marks-though none were so remarkably well done as Draco's.

A curt nod of his blond head confirmed Harry's suspicions. "I no longer affiliate myself with that crowd," said Draco, and Harry sensed a longing in his voice as he continued, "But I'm not fully accepted here, either. Neville avoids my gaze. You, Hermione, Ron… you don't hate me, but you'd prefer it if I wasn't around. Am I wrong?"

Harry couldn't meet his eyes.

"Luna doesn't mind, though. She's incredibly quick to forgive. And she's smarter than most. She understands." Did Draco's voice break?

Harry looked up. "I'm… sorry," he said.

"I always envied you, you know," said Draco, looking straight ahead. "I always wanted what you had."

"Fame?" asked Harry. "Absurdly high expectations?"

He wasn't serious, but he didn't expect Draco's answer-"Friends."

Harry kept his gaze on the gray carpet. There were a few murmured words and a flash of green light from the fireplace. When he raised his head, Draco was gone.

Luna reentered the room and went to Draco's now unoccupied spot on the sofa. "Harry," she said, touching his arm softly. "He really does need friends. He comes to me to talk, and I don't mind. But he could use someone his own age. Someone more like him." She paused thoughtfully. "You know, you two are more alike than either of you know. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named shaped both of your futures for you. Now that he's gone, it's like you're left stranded without a roadmap-or a wand. You lack purpose."

She fell silent. Harry didn't know how to respond.

"It wouldn't be rude of you to leave, you know. If you're wondering."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Luna. You're right-I should go. But thank you."

"Of course."

They stood, and he gave her a hug. Ginny was sound asleep now, and Harry brushed her forehead with his lips before taking a bit of Floo powder, stepping into the fireplace, and saying, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place."

The fire glowed green; Luna watched him, a deep sorrow veiled in her bright blue eyes; then, he was gone.

* * *

Harry blinked the ash from his eyes and stepped out of the Black house's fireplace. Hedwig's cage sat on a dining room chair, and his briefcase leaned against a table leg. The emptiness of the house made Harry wish he hadn't left, despite the fact that he needed to rest.

After the war, when he'd first returned to Grimmauld Place, he'd feared the worst. Since Hermione had accidentally allowed the Death Eater Yaxley within the boundaries of the home, he was sure the place would have been destroyed. Somehow, though many valuable items had been scavenged and the house was searched quite carelessly, Harry found it easy to repair the damage done and assign a new Secret Keeper-just in case. He'd lived here ever since, although these past few months he'd found himself longing for company.

His thoughts turned to Ginny as he walked upstairs. He was in love with her, of that he was certain. And she loved him, too. For the thousandth time, he imagined kneeling in front of her, a ring in his hand. "Ginny Weasley," he'd say, "Will you marry me?"

Harry shook his head, banishing the image. It was stupid. He wasn't ready for marriage, and besides, Ginny had a career. It would be silly of her to accept a marriage proposal while playing Quidditch-what if she became pregnant? Harry allowed himself a smile at the thought of Ginny pregnant with their child, but that was all it could be-a thought. He was making a transition right now, he'd have to grow accustomed to teaching before he went about proposing. Marriage ought to be the last thing on his mind.

Harry tugged off his shirt and fell into bed. "Someday," he promised himself, and fell asleep.


	3. Return to Hogwarts

Chapter Three

Harry sat behind his desk, absentmindedly rubbing his scar as he read through a form. The surface of his desk was noticeably less cluttered than it had been just a few days previous, when Hermione had burst into his office and told him to quit his Auror job. Most of the stack of papers had been transferred to co-workers, particularly Ron, who'd been happy to take on a few extra assignments.

"To be honest," Ron had confided when Harry handed him the folders, "I'm thinking of following in your footsteps sooner or later."

"You want to teach?" said Harry, astounded.

Ron fervently shook his head. "No way, mate. I mean quitting the Ministry. George could use my help full-time at the joke shop. Besides, I'm not cut out for all the reading and writing. I thought we'd be out in the field, you know?"

"We were a lot at first," agreed Harry. "But I see what you mean. Probably best to give it a few months, like you said. Kingsley won't like losing two Aurors so close together."

"Nah," said Ron with a grin. "I'll stay on for a few more months at least. If nothing else, Hermione's here. I get to see her every day." His voice took on a dreamy tone, and Harry laughed.

A pecking at the door startled Harry out of his thoughts, and he stood to open it. A big barn owl flew in and settled on his desk, a letter tied to its foot. The owl looked at Harry expectantly as he loosened the knot and took the letter.

"Sorry, I don't have any food for you," said Harry after the owl opened and closed its beak a few times.

Ruffling its feathers, the owl scooted across the desk, refusing to leave. Harry would have to write a response, then. He sighed, collapsing once again into the chair. He turned the letter over, running his thumb over the Hogwarts seal on its front, and opened it.

"Dear Mr. Potter,

"At this time, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall would like to extend to you the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Should you choose to accept, please sign your name on the line below."

Harry dropped the letter on the desk and rested his head against the back of his chair. "Merlin's beard," he said aloud. "What should I do?'

Until now, Hermione's suggestion that he quit at the Ministry hadn't truly sunk in. Was he, Harry, absolutely certain he should leave the only job he'd ever had? The uncertainty was almost overwhelming, but he made himself take a step back and weigh his options. He could accept this new challenge, take the teaching position Voldemort himself had coveted and later cursed. He could go back to Hogwarts, the first place he'd ever felt truly at home. Or, he could stay here at the Ministry, wasting away behind a desk, never questioning or veering from the course Lord Voldemort had set him on the moment he'd killed his parents…

Or he could walk away from both jobs, let down both the Headmistress of Hogwarts and the Minister for Magic, and find something else to fill his life with.

No. He, Harry, was not one to back down on a challenge. He was not a coward; he would not turn his back. He was a Gryffindor. And he kept his promises. Especially to Minerva McGonagall.

He took his quill from the inkwell on his desk, pulled the letter closer, and wrote, "I, Harry James Potter, accept the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." On the line, he penned his signature. Once he replaced the quill in its inkwell, he went to fold the letter-but as he watched, his signature faded into the paper, eerily reminiscent of his time with Tom Riddle's journal. Then the rest of the writing on the page vanished as well, and new words took their place.

"Thank you for submitting your acceptance, Professor Harry James Potter.

"For your information:

"You will be expected to arrive at Hogwarts at least one week before the start of term on 1st September to review your lesson plans, secure necessary books and supplies, and ensure your office and classroom are arranged to your liking. On 1st September, you may ride the Hogwarts Express to the school, or you may Apparate to Hogsmeade-the choice is yours-but please ensure that you are not late.

"Enclosed is a list of texts utilized by previous professors of D.A.D.A. in their teaching. You may use any of these or select texts of your own choosing as long as you confirm them with the Headmistress prior to start of term.

"I would like to meet with you as soon as possible to aid you in your planning, Mr. Potter. You can find me in the Headmistress' office at Hogwarts most any weekday, so please make your way there at your convenience. After the end of term in June will be best.

"Thank you for your commitment of two years teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Yours sincerely,

"Headmistress Minerva McGonagall"

Harry smiled. Now that he'd committed, it was as if a Hippogriff had leapt from his shoulders, and he felt light. Maybe his decision was wrong, but he'd taught before. How bad could it be?

* * *

It was a steamy morning in July when Harry Apparated once again into Hogsmeade, right outside The Three Broomsticks. He was a smidge early for his appointment with McGonagall-he fancied a butterbeer and thought he might as well stop in and see Madame Rosmerta. He entered the bar, surprised to see it rather full. Then again, he supposed Hogsmeade _was_ a village, and Three Broomsticks was as good a place as any to seek shelter from the humidity and heat.

Harry wiped perspiration from his forehead as he approached the counter.

"'Lo, Madame Rosmerta," he greeted.

She beamed it him. "Well, hello there, Mr. Potter! Pleasure to see you again."

"You'll be seeing a lot of me in the coming months," said Harry. "I'm starting as Defense teacher, this fall."

"Really?" said Rosmerta. "How lovely. Good for you, then! Anything to celebrate?"

"Just a bottle of butterbeer-to go, please."

She obliged, and in no time Harry had exited the shop and strolled leisurely along the path to Hogwarts. As he drank, he recalled his first time drinking butterbeer-how he'd snuck from the castle using the …, and met Ron and Hermione there. Merlin's beard! when he'd been in school, he'd done some awfully foolish things, looking back. That had been in third year, when everyone had believed that Sirius Black was a murderer, out to get Harry. And he'd snuck out for a bit of fun with friends!

As a teacher, there would be none of that. For one thing, Ron and Hermione would no longer be at his side. And he hoped he'd gained some common sense. What Hermione had told him when she'd implored him to take this job-that he didn't always have to be the hero-well, she was right, wasn't she?

Harry tucked the empty bottle into his robes, meaning to dispose of it later, and waited at the gates for Filch.

Last night, he'd invited Ginny over for a drink, and by the end had been confessing his fears for the upcoming year to her. She'd stroked his messy black hair, smiled, and murmured, "Harry. What did you most enjoy about the D.A.?"

Harry had blinked at her. "Well, er, I suppose I liked showing Umbridge that she wasn't capable of breaking us-"

Ginny shook her head. "No, Harry. What did you _enjoy?"_

"Okay, okay," he said finally. "I know what you're getting at. There was nothing better than seeing the looks on you lots' faces when you mastered a spell."

"That's more like it," said Ginny, sounding pleased. "Which class was your favorite?"

"Patronuses," said Harry immediately. "I could live in that moment forever, when the Room of Requirement glowed blue with magic, and I felt… I felt whole. Like everything we were doing, the war we were fighting… like it was all worth it."

Ginny nodded. "Harry… don't you see? That's why Hermione thought this job would be perfect for you. You don't have to be nervous. You were meant to be a teacher. It's in your blood. And you'll do splendid."

She sealed that promise with a kiss. The memory of it fluttered across Harry's lips, even as he watched the grizzled form of Argus Filch making his way down the beaten path to the gate.

"Back again, are we?" asked the caretaker as he fumbled with the padlock.

"Yes," said Harry. "I'm going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The sight of Filch's face, shocked and disbelieving, made Harry laugh out loud. He'd never been so delighted to run into the Hogwarts caretaker in his life.

"Anyway," said Harry once his laughing fit had subsided and the gate was open, "do I get a key, or anything like that? Since I _am_ going to be teaching here. Seems a bit silly to make you come down to open the gate every time a teacher needs in or out, right?"

"There's a spell," muttered Filch. "Expect the Headmistress could help you there."

That was right-Filch was a Squib, he wouldn't know the spell. Now Harry felt guilty for letting the old man struggle with the padlock both times he'd come to Hogwarts since his eighth year, when he could have asked McGonagall for the spell and saved the caretaker the trouble.

"Right," said Harry. "Thanks."

They started up the hill to the castle, but just as they reached the steps, Harry noticed a figure exiting the woods. The bushy black beard and hair, as well as the enormous size of the figure, identified him as Rubeus Hagrid-a fellow teacher, Harry realized with a start.

"Hey, Hagrid!" he called, waving.

Hagrid turned, and seeing Harry, lifted a hand the size of a trash can lid to wave in response. "Hello there, Harry!" He started walking toward the castle steps. "What're you doin' here, then?"

"I've a meeting with Professor McGonagall," said Harry, lowering his voice as Hagrid came closer.

"Well, what for?"

"I'm starting as a teacher next fall," said Harry. He kept his eyes on Hagrid's, watching as he realized what Harry had said.

"Gallopin' gargoyles, Harry!" he boomed, bounding toward Harry and throwing his arms around him. "Harry Potter, a teacher! It'll be Defense Against the Dark Arts, then, tha's the only open spot!"

"Hagrid," groaned Harry, struggling for breath with his face smushed against Hagrid's great chest. "Can't-breathe-"

"Sorry, blimey," said Hagrid. He let Harry go and stepped back. "I'm jus' so excited, Harry, you'll do great, it'll be jus' like old times-"

"Hagrid," said Harry, "it's good to see you again, but I really have to get to the Headmistress' office. I'll come find you after, though, okay?"

"All righ' with me, Harry, tha's all righ' with me. You know where to find me, and all." As Hagrid turned away, Harry thought he heard him sniffle, and mumble, "Harry Potter… a teacher! At Hogwarts!" Then he strode away, turning back to give another wave.

Harry returned it and ran up the steps to the castle, passing through the oak doors and past the Great Hall before realizing he'd lost Filch. Well, that was all right. He knew where to find the Headmistress. Harry hurried down the entrance hall and to the stone gargoyle that marked McGonagall's office, and said, somewhat hopefully, "Licorice wand!"

Nothing happened. Harry cursed-he'd forgotten to ask McGonagall for the new password, which he should have known changed at the end of the school year. He was nearly ready to send a message by Patronus when the click of heels on the stone floor reached his ears from down the corridor, and he turned to see McGonagall herself striding toward him.

"Professor Potter," she said, and the words sent a shiver up his spine. _That was him._

"Headmistress," said Harry.

"It appears we are both a bit late."

"Yes, Headmistress. I, er, ran into Hagrid outside, and then I realized I didn't know the password, so…"

Professor McGonagall smiled. "Quite all right, Harry. And you can call me Minerva." She cleared her throat, turned to the gargoyle, and said, "Chocolate Frog."

"I should have guessed," said Harry with a grin as the gargoyle jumped aside, and the doorway was revealed. He followed the Headmistress into her office, feeling slightly nervous as he sat down across from her. What if she thought his lesson ideas were idiotic? What if this was the moment she realized that he was entirely unfit for the job? "Mr. Potter," he imagined her saying, "it appears I have made a mistake…"

"Mr. Potter," said McGonagall-Minerva-sharply, and he looked up. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," said Harry. And he found that he was.


	4. Proposals

Chapter Four

When Harry stepped from the fireplace into the Ministry of Magic that evening, the Atrium was empty, and the only sound was the quiet flap of a few memos making their way across the room. He was almost to the lift before he remembered-Ginny. Harry groaned. He'd promised to meet her at the Leaky Cauldron at 6, following his appointment-which had gone over because he'd stopped to speak with Hagrid-and now it was nearly 6:30. "Oh, for the love of Merlin's saggy left-" he started, but a laugh behind him made him pause.

"Potter!" drawled a familiar voice. "Such profane language from the Chosen One."

"Draco. Nice to hear you cracking jokes," said Harry. "Although I'd prefer if you just called me Harry, particularly if we're going to be friends."

Draco Malfoy smiled. "Very well, Harry." He paused. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. I was supposed to meet Ginny half an hour ago, but-"

"By all means, don't let me stop you," said Draco urgently. Harry wasn't sure whether he was being sincere, his tone had shifted so quickly. "Seriously. What I have to say can wait. Your fiery girlfriend will kill you and me both if I don't let you go, and besides, it's not urgent."

"That's true enough," said Harry. "But if you don't mind me asking-why have you been frequenting the Ministry lately?" The young man wasn't exactly inconspicuous, and Harry had seen him here at least half a dozen times since the night at Hermione's.

"That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Really though: you should go." Draco held up both hands and smiled, his eyes sincere.

Harry nodded. "All right. Tomorrow morning, I'll be here."

Draco returned the nod and ducked into a fireplace, vanishing in a swirl of green flame. Harry followed him, picturing the Leaky Cauldron and Ginny's fury at his tardiness as the fire took him, too.

* * *

His feet hit solid ground-he was standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron, right underneath the battered old sign. Harry reached for the door handle and entered, but froze when he saw Ginny sitting alone at a table, facing away from him.

The old bartender, Tom, saw him and waved. "Hello, Harry! Good to see you again, my boy!"

Ginny's head went up, but she didn't turn. Harry shook Tom's hand, greeted him, then excused himself to go to Ginny. He contemplated placing his hand on her shoulder, playing with her hair, or kissing her cheek, but in the end he just slid into the seat across from her and met her bright green eyes.

"Harry Potter," she said. He loved the way her lips moved when she said his name.

"Ginny Weasley," said Harry, hoping he didn't sound afraid.

"You're late."

"Yes."

She smiled. "It's okay. I was too. I only walked in five minutes ago. I got caught up speaking with Luna-she wants to try out a new tattoo, on me, see? and of course I wanted her to show me what it looked like. When I saw what time it was, I hurried here, and of course you hadn't even arrived yet. For a second I thought you'd left already." She reached out and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. "But you wouldn't leave without me."

Harry grinned. Fire coursed through his cheek, where her fingers had brushed him, but he focused on her eyes. "Can I see the tattoo?"

"Sure." Ginny reached up to the collar of her green sweater-exactly the shade of her eyes-and pulled it down past her shoulder. A faint sketch done in markers was just visible below her collarbone, roses and vines spelling out the words "Until the very end".

"It's-" A lump rose up in his throat. "It's beautiful, Gin. Those words-"

"That's what your father said, wasn't it? When you spoke to him using the Resurrection Stone? I know Luna promised she wouldn't tell anyone what you told her, but she thought you'd want me to know."

"Luna," said Harry, wanting very badly to lean across the table and kiss her, "is a genius."

"I know," whispered Ginny. And she leaned across the table and kissed him.

When they finally broke apart, Harry murmured, "D'you want to get anything to eat?"

"Maybe to celebrate," said Ginny.

"What?"

She pulled something from her purse and held it in her hand, just so that Harry couldn't see what it was.

"I know that you aren't going to ask," Ginny continued. "Because you're too set on 'being ready' or whatever dragon dung your current excuse is. But I _am_ ready. And I think you are too. Mostly I'm tired of waiting for you to ask me." She took a deep breath. There was a roaring in Harry's ears. He couldn't quite…

"Harry James Potter," said Ginny, sliding from her chair onto the ground in front of him and getting onto one knee. She held out her hands and opened the box she'd pulled from her purse. A ring shone in its center.

"Ginny-"

"Shush. Harry James Potter… Will you marry me?"

His answer was reflected in her emerald green eyes. "Yes. Yes, yes, I will marry you, Gin-" Ginny swept up before he could finish and kissed him, hard, fierce, passionate. He melted in her embrace, as she slid the ring onto his finger, feeling at once overwhelmed and assured that nothing in this world had ever been so right.

* * *

At the Burrow that night, it seemed like everyone he knew had come to celebrate their engagement. "How did you manage to keep it a secret?" he murmured to Ginny, who was snuggled against him, her head on his chest.

"Well," she said, "you're not the most observant person. But I kept it quiet. Most of the invites were last minute, besides."

Mrs. Weasley swept up beside them for the third time in ten minutes. "Oh, Harry!" she beamed, her eyes sparkling. The first time she'd come around, she'd been concerned with their appearance-fussing with their clothes, trying to smooth Harry's hair. The second, she'd sobbed hysterically. Now she was practically floating with elation. "I just can't believe it, it's too perfect! You know she had the biggest crush on you in her first year, couldn't hardly bear to talk about you much less around you…" She kept babbling on, wiping at her eyes as guests crossed the room to congratulate her, Harry, and Ginny.

"Yeah, Mrs. Weasley," he mumbled distractedly, searching the room. Ron and Hermione had already been by, the latter in tears, and the former torn between congratulations and ordering Harry to "take good care of her, mate. Not that Ginny needs taking care of, I mean."

It was all… well, the thought of marrying Ginny made it all worth it, but Merlin's beard, wasn't this too much? He'd almost forgotten how much of a fuss had been made over Bill and Fleur's wedding, and that had been in the middle of a war. With nothing else requiring Mrs. Weasley's attention, Harry wasn't sure how he was going to survive this. He held tighter to Ginny's hand.

"Together," he said, only to her.

"Together," she murmured sleepily.

Mrs. Weasley offered to plan the wedding for them-"You're overworked enough as it is, dear," she'd said to Harry, "and Ginny can help when she has the time." Harry had Apparated with Ginny to her flat, where Luna and Hermione were already asleep.

"Goodnight, love," he'd murmured, kissing her.

"Goodnight, my fiance."

She smelled amazing, and Harry never wanted to let her go. But eventually they parted, and she went inside, and he Apparated home.

Despite his joy, or perhaps because of it, he lay in bed awake for hours. Once sleep overtook him, his dreams were dark and haunting. The high, cold voice of a man now dead echoed through his thoughts-"I can touch you now!... The Boy Who Lived… I'm going to kill you, Harry Potter. I'm going to destroy you…" Flashes of green interspersed with screams-Hermione's, his mother's-and Bellatrix's cackles. When he awoke, his sheets tangled around his body, Harry had broken into a cold sweat, and his body was tense.

By the time he reached his office, all he wanted to do was return to Grimmauld Place and sleep. When a knock came on his door he snapped, "What do you want?" Slowly, a bushy head emerged from the opening.

"Harry? What's wrong?" asked Hermione.

He sighed. "Sorry, 'Mione. Nightmares."

Immediately, she seemed to understand. "I have them too, you know. So does Gin. Do you-do you want a coffee, or anything? Something to wake you up?"

"I'd love one," said Harry.

"I was going to go get one myself," said Hermione. "I'll be right back."

She left the room, closing the door behind her, and Harry let out a long sigh. What was wrong with him? Yesterday should have been a happy night-if anything, his dreams should have been filled with Ginny, with thoughts of their future together. And now he was being standoffish and rude to one of his best friends. He went to his desk. There were only a two more assignments to finish-an analysis of a reported sighting of Fenrir Greyback, who'd unfortunately managed to survive the war, and a report on the overall progress on the capture and trials of the remaining Death Eaters. Most were dead, but some, including Lucius Malfoy and the Carrows, were sent to Azkaban. A few had earned death sentences, although their trials had already been carried out. Harry tried not to think about those few. Really, he'd hated every moment of the entire process. Voldemort's servants had been murderous, foul people for the most part, but a lot of their hatred for muggleborn and half-blooded wizards stemmed from their parents and peers, and from the antagonism of the rest of the wizarding world against Slytherin house.

But it did no good to dwell on such things now. Harry reached for his quill. He'd finish the report this morning, and perhaps after lunch he could schedule an interview with the witness-yes, and in just a few days he could be finished with this Auror business for good. It wasn't that he was unsuited for the work. It was more that fighting Dark wizards seemed to be all he'd ever done, and he'd never done it by choice. Sure, Defense Against the Dark Arts was technically the same, but he _wanted_ to teach. He'd enjoyed it in the past. And he liked children, who often liked him, too. The Ministry of Magic had holidays of a sort where wizards brought their children to work, and those were always enjoyable. On other occasions when he'd visited Hogwarts, the students had been happy to speak with him-although, now that he reflected on it, perhaps they just wanted a chance to speak with "The Boy Who Lived".

Someone knocked on the door. Harry replaced the quill in the inkwell with a sigh. "Come in."

"Morning, Po-er, that is, Harry." It was Draco Malfoy, a thick sheaf of paper in hand. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No, no," said Harry, pushing parchment to one side of his desk. He'd completely forgotten about their conversation the previous evening. "You're fine, come in, have a seat."

"I heard about your engagement to Ginny Weasley," said Draco, sitting in a plush arm chair across the desk from Harry. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." He paused. "Did you… did you know she was planning on proposing? You practically shoved me out of the Atrium last night when I told you I was late."

"Yes, I knew," said Draco. "She told me. She invited me to the celebration, too, actually. But, you see, I'm rarely comfortable in large gatherings-I never was, although I acted the part often when we were in school." He laughed nervously, as if he was conscious of his over-sharing but didn't know how to stop. "I'm a bit introverted, you see."

Harry smiled. "I'm glad she reached out to you," he said sincerely. "Really. We're happy to have you as a friend."

Draco didn't meet his eyes, although Harry expected that was from shyness, and not from any ulterior motives. There was a red tint to the blond man's pale cheeks, and his light lashes fluttered. Finally, he took a deep breath. "So, Harry. Last night, you asked me why I've been here at the Ministry so often. The truth is that I've had to set appointments with the various department heads in an effort to find someone-anyone-with the power to take care of this issue. In fact, the Auror head, Gawain Robards, is the one I most want to speak with, but he won't see me. _I wonder why."_ Those last words were rife with bitterness, and Draco rubbed his left forearm.

"I'm sorry, Draco." Harry crossed his arms. "So what, exactly, is the issue you're trying to get taken care of?"

"It's… well, it's more of an idea I had. I've been talking with Luna and Neville about a major problem in the wizarding world. It's you, funny enough, that I've used as the example for most of my explanations." Draco opened his folder and pulled a paper from it. Harry thought he spotted his own name in the top corner. "Harry, after your parents were killed by Lord Vol-Lord Volde-" Draco cleared his throat. "Sorry, I still have trouble saying the name. By Lord Voldemort… who decided where you would go, who would raise you?"

"Well, Dumbledore did, didn't he?"

"That's right," said Draco pointedly. "A man who wouldn't be a part of your life for another decade had the right to make arguably the most important decision of your life? And a terrific decision it turned out to be-your uncle, aunt, and cousin were abusive, and you lived in an effing cupboard for years!"

"I'm sorry, Draco, but I don't see where you're going with this."

"The point is, we don't seem to care what happens to wizarding children outside of school. For instance, I remember hearing that you asked McGonagall whether you could stay at Hogwarts for the summer after your first year. That school was the first place you ever felt truly at home, wasn't it?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "How'd you know?"

"It was the same for me. At least at first. After a couple of years of being a Slytherin, it started feeling like another prison. All I ever did as a kid was live up to expectations." The bitterness had returned to Draco's voice. "My parents'. The rest of the school's. And V-Voldemort's. Even yours. You thought I was out to get you. I was, some of the time." He cleared his throat. "Anyway. Back to the issue at hand. Didn't Sirius Black grow up in an abusive household? He was a relative of mine, I heard plenty about him."

This was in response to Harry's shocked expression. He quickly schooled it. "Of course-go on."

"Thanks. I was saying: don't you think he would have stayed at Hogwarts for the summer, too? Really, what I'm trying to say is that we need a committee, or something, who are willing to take in children who won't, or shouldn't, go home. A group who can be everything that kids without families-or at least, without decent ones-need."

Harry found himself smiling. "Sort of an anti-cupboard league, you mean?"

"Now you're understanding me!" said Draco excitedly. "Don't you think we could make such a difference?"

"I do," said Harry. "Do you know of kids, right now, who need something like that?"

Draco opened his folder again. "Yes," he said. "Everything is right here."


	5. By the Burrow

Chapter Five

Harry felt lighter than he had in months. His Auror work was finished-he'd turned in his last assignment directly to Kingsley, who'd thanked him and said, "Now, Harry, I don't want to see you in here again for a good, long while, all right?"

Now he was hand in hand with Ginny, strolling down the hill away from the Burrow, where they'd just finished a delicious meal.

"Are you busy tomorrow night?" asked Ginny suddenly.

"Not unless you want me to be," said Harry.

"I've a match against Bulgaria. The whole family's coming, even Charlie. Usually it's just Mum or Dad, everyone's been so busy. Dad wants you to help him figure out a camera, if you're willing. And we'll celebrate with Viktor after the match. "

Harry laughed out loud. "I'll definitely be there, Gin," he promised.

"Perfect." She nestled her head on his shoulder, and he let go of her hand so he could put his arm around her. After a moment, she asked, "Harry, how do you feel about teaching, now?"

"More excited than before," he said honestly. "I know it'll be at least as much work as the Ministry, but it'll be with kids, and I won't be so stressed and overwhelmed all the time." He paused. "You know what I'm most looking forward to?"

"What?"

"In a couple years, when kids are used to me at school, maybe I won't be such a celebrity anymore. Maybe they'll go home to their parents and say, 'Famous? Professor Potter certainly doesn't _act_ like the Chosen One. You should see him teach!' That probably sounds bonkers." Harry laughed, but his tone was wistful.

"I don't think that's bonkers at all, Harry," said Ginny quietly. "It would be a tremendous relief to you if you didn't have to deal with people staring and vying for your attention whenever you go out in public."

"That was one of the worst things about the Ministry. I don't mind the children wanting a peek at me, but adults, even busy Ministry employees would drop by my office, asking me to tell my story. They want to hear it from my own mouth. I hate it!" he burst out. "It's been _years,_ and I'm still the Boy Who Lived, I'm still the powerful wizard who defeated Voldemort-all by himself, to hear _them_ speak of it."

He was seething, his cheeks aflame. Ginny was silent.

"It feels like I'm living a lie, having the credit all put to me. Dumbledore, Snape, all our friends-I couldn't have done any of it without them. Really though, I just to be a normal wizard. Anonymous, even. It's selfish, I know. But if I had one wish, it would be to be ordinary."

"Harry," said Ginny after a long while. Her voice was certain, and it drew Harry from his own thoughts. "Let's sit down."

They settled in the long grass, her hands in his, side by side.

"Look at me," she said. He did. "I know it's hard. You've been through so much in so short a time. And in some ways, I understand what you're struggling with. I think it's sort of ironic, isn't it: you'd give anything to not be famous, but people like Ron… you know he'd pay any price if he could only have what you have." She pursed her lips, thinking. "Harry, is it all right if I'm entirely honest with you?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation.

"Even if it offends you?"

He blinked. "Yes. I'll try not to get offended, though."

She let out a long breath. "Harry-the truth is-you're not very empathetic."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. "Er," he said, feeling hurt despite his previous statement. "What makes you say that?'

She laughed out loud. "Harry. I don't mean to be unkind. It's just that-and both Ron and Hermione have pointed this out to me in the past-you tend to think only of yourself. Not always. But often. And particularly in conversation."

"All right," said Harry slowly.

"It's not your fault, necessarily. A lot of bad things have happened to you. But you often get caught up in yourself. I think you'd be much happier if you spent more time focusing on others. That's why I encouraged you to take the teaching job." Ginny slid her hand up his neck, into his hair. "Remember fifth year?" she whispered. "It was a hard time for you, but being with your friends, helping them in the DA-you were happy, then. Hermione knows that, too. That's why she walked into your office that day. And I'm glad she did." She grinned and pulled Harry in for a kiss.

They sat, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder, for a long time, watching the full moon make its slow rise into the night sky. Harry thought of Teddy Lupin, who was living with Andromeda Tonks. His godson had just turned 3, and although Harry had visited him often during the first year or two of his life, recently his visits had diminished in frequency. He realized with a start that he hadn't made an effort to see little Teddy since the start of May, and cursed aloud.

"What's wrong?" murmured Ginny, sounding half-asleep.

"Nothing," said Harry softly. "Just that you were right, as usual."

She laughed into his chest. "How so?"

"I haven't visited Teddy lately. My own godson, and it's been well over a month since I've seen him."

"And you don't even have a good excuse," teased Ginny, "unlike _your_ godfather."

Harry shook his head. "It's true," he said. The mention of Sirius still sent a pang of regret through his chest, but he pushed it away. "Ginny?"

"Mmm?"

"D'you want to come with me tomorrow to see him?"

She sighed sleepily. "Mm hmm."

Harry pulled her closer.

Once the moon reached its zenith, he helped her to her feet and they returned to the Burrow. They passed through the doorway. Harry remembered a time when the door was always locked, when guests were greeted with suspicion and tests to confirm their identity, and a shiver went up his spine. How good it was to live without fear. Suddenly he was grateful that his biggest problem was his fame, and he resolved to never complain about it again-it was a small price to pay when the fate of the entire wizarding world had lain in the balance.

When they reached the stairs, Harry pulled Ginny into his arms and carried her up to her bedroom. Once she was in bed, a serene smile on her face, her dark red hair spilling over the pillow, he seriously considered staying with her. In the end, he returned to the main floor, where the fireplace lay dark and cold. He gathered a handful of Floo powder, threw it at his feet, and murmured, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

When Harry arrived, the thought of crawling into his cold, open bed, all alone in the empty house, was too much to fathom. Despite the heat outside, the Black house was drafty, so Harry lit a fire in the ornate fireplace, pulled a blanket from one of the downstairs beds, and curled up on the couch where Hermione had once slept hand in hand with Ron. Merlin's beard, he was feeling sentimental tonight. He stared into the flames and tried to imagine life with Ginny in this house. Starting a family, watching their kids grow up here… No, he decided. When he and Ginny were married, they would buy a new house. He could afford it, after all, and he wanted a place without memories, where they could create their own. He'd talk it over with her later, of course, but he was certain she would agree.

His eyes grew heavy. Kids, with Ginny Weasley. Ginny _Potter,_ if she wanted. He imagined messy, red-headed boys running around, with his mother's green eyes, and black haired girls who blinked big brown eyes at him, just like their own mother's.

He wasn't sure when the imagining turned into dreams, but when he woke, the fire was out, and he'd had no nightmares for the first time in a long while. Harry smiled and fell back asleep, pulling his blankets close and imagining Ginny beside him.


	6. The Sorting Ceremony

Chapter Six

 _Professor Harry James Potter_ was inscribed in gold, curly letters across the bottom of the trunk. Harry held it in his lap, remembering the grin on Ginny's face as he'd pulled off the wrapping the night of his birthday, sitting in the Burrow with his friends-really, his family-around him. The trunk had been empty, then. Now it was packed full of his necessities, most of his other belongings at Hogwarts already.

He looked out the train window, watching the scenery fly by as the _Hogwarts Express_ sped across the countryside. He recalled his first time on the train, sitting by Ron, feasting on the treats he'd bought from the trolley. He remembered meeting Hermione, how she'd helped Neville, a boy she'd just met, as he hunted for his lost toad; how she'd cleaned his glasses and pointed out dirt on Ron's nose, of all things. Then the following year, when the barrier had sealed, and Harry had sat in the passenger seat of Arthur Weasley's flying car, Ron driving in a misguided attempt to reach Hogwarts. That had been Ginny's first year at school. Merlin's beard, he was glad it had been the Weasleys walking by as he'd wondered how to find Platform 9 ¾. What would he have done without them?

Harry smiled and rested his head against the seat just as the carriage door slid open.

"Sorry to disturb you, dear," said the trolley witch. "Anything from the trolley?"

"Yes-some Pumpkin Pasties and a couple of Chocolate Frogs."

She handed him the treats, and he passed a few Sickles over. "Thank you, dear," she said, and pulled his door closed.

Harry unwrapped a Frog and checked the card. _Severus Snape,_ it read. The picture was uninhabited, and he didn't bother reading the description, although he tucked the card into his pocket. Curious, he opened the other one and sighed. _Harry James Potter._ He had more of those than the rest combined, since his friends at the Ministry often gave their cards to him as a sort of running joke. He tucked the card away anyway and closed his eyes-he'd only rest them for a moment, and then start work on one of his lesson plans for the week. He still wasn't sure what was best for seventh years...

Next thing he knew, Harry was jolted awake by the train's long, loud whistle. He glanced out the window to see they'd arrived in the station. Students had flooded the platform. As he exited the train, he heard Hagrid's exuberant cries of "Firs' years! Firs' years, righ' this way, please!"

"Merlin's beard!" said a student. "It's Harry Potter!"

Harry cringed, wishing he had his Invisibility Cloak as students turned to take a look.

"The Chosen One!" said one girl.

"I heard he's Defense teacher this year," said another loudly.

He decided to act as if he couldn't hear them, and walked to the furthest carriage from the train. The thestral watched him as he boarded, but before he could close the door, a girl popped up, grinning at him. "Can I sit with you, Mr. Harry Potter?"

"Er, yeah-it's Professor," he stammered.

She hurried to sit across from him, and his shoulders slumped as four more students followed her lead. He finally pulled the door shut and made himself smile at the students.

They grinned back, exchanging excited glances, and held out quills and parchment.

"Can we get your autograph, please?"

* * *

When Harry reached the entrance hall, his hands were stained with ink, and he was slightly out of breath from avoiding his dozens of fans. He glanced over to an often unused classroom just to one side, where Professor Sprout could be seen through a window, instructing the first years in preparation for the Sorting. She smiled at him as he passed.

Harry strode through the set of double doors into the Great Hall, striding up the center of the four long House tables. The only occupants of the Hall were the teachers, who were seated at the front of the room, Professor McGonagall at the center-Dumbledore's spot, Harry couldn't help but think.

One chair was unoccupied. It was on the far right side of the High Table, crammed next to the towering form of Rubeus Hagrid, and obviously meant for Harry. He hurried to take his place, and no sooner had he sat down than the doors opened once again, allowing hundreds of black-robed students to stream inside. It took some time for the students to fill their respective tables-Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff-and as they were seated, Hagrid leaned over, beaming.

"Blimey, Harry, can't believe yer a teacher this year. Exciting, innit?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, Hagrid, it's definitely exciting. Sort of makes me nervous though, too, though. I'm not much older than these seventh years, and I'm kind of worried. Think they'll listen to me?"

"Yeh kiddin'?" said Hagrid. "Yer Harry Potter! 'Course they'll listen to yeh. An' if they don't, yeh know what to do with 'em. Besides," he continued, "yeh've already got their attention."

Harry looked over the crowd of students. Sure enough, most of them were looking at him, talking amongst themselves, jostling each other. He was used to the attention. The sensation of looking down on them instead of being one of them was what threw him. He turned back to Hagrid, shaking his head, feeling suddenly ill.

"I don't know if I can do this," he managed.

"They're intimidatin', all righ'," said Hagrid. "But yeh'll get used to it in no time. I did, didn't I?"

Harry let out a long sigh, just as the doors of the Great Hall opened again, and a stream of tiny, terrified first years followed Professor Sprout to the front, where the Sorting Hat rested on a tall stool.

Hagrid leaned forward eagerly, causing the chair beneath him to groan ominously. "I love the Sortin'," he said. "All those nervous firs' years, findin' out where they fit in best! Makes me think of mine, tell yeh the truth."

Harry hesitated. "What House were you Sorted into, Hagrid?"

"Why, same as you, o' course! I'm a Gryffindor, through an' through."

"And… did you like being a Gryffindor?" He didn't want to be unkind, but he needed to know. "Were you treated well, by the other students?"

Squinting, Hagrid eyed Harry for a moment. "Not always," he said carefully. "I was-well. I was different. People don' like that, usually. But it don' matter now, do it?"

Harry nodded, sorry he'd brought it up. But he couldn't help but think of his conversation with Draco Malfoy, weeks ago. He looked up at the long line of trembling first years. How many of them would find sanctuary in Hogwarts' hallways, cling to the school as the first place they'd ever felt at home? And how many of them would resent the time they spent here, because of the actions of others?

Of course, this wasn't the time for such thoughts. Harry shook his head and returned his attention to the Sorting Hat, which lay deceptively still on that stool.

Had he ever been that small? he wondered as he watched the first years shuffle their feet, nervously glancing between the Hat, the teachers, and the older students. One girl stared in awe at the candle-lit ceiling, which seemed to open up to the sky. Then the seam near the base of the Hat opened, and it cleared its throat-could a hat have a throat?-and began to sing.

Applause filled the air as the Hat's song concluded, and Hagrid rose to his feet, bringing his great hands together with unbridled enthusiasm. "Tha' was beau'iful, wasn' it, Harry?" he asked over his shoulder as the Sorting Hat bowed and fell still.

"Er, yeah," said Harry. His stomach growled, and he sighed. No food would appear on the tables until after the Sorting, and there were almost a hundred first years to be Sorted. He rested his head on his hands and watched Professor Sprout place the Sorting Hat on the first boy's head, whose name he hadn't heard.

"RAVENCLAW!" cried the Hat almost immediately.

The boy looked faintly disappointed, but hurried off to join his table. As he passed the Hufflepuff table, an older girl who looked rather similar to him stood to give him a quick hug.

As the Sorting progressed, Harry noticed at least a dozen cases where a first year was Sorted into a different House than their older sibling-if he was right in assuming that they were related, of course. He was quite sure that in his own school years, though not long ago, the Parvati twins, Sorted into Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, had been an exception, while the Weasleys, every last one of them Gryffindors, had been more of the rule. How strange that so many families were being divided this day, if his assumptions were correct. Soon enough, he'd find out, he was certain. And, well, the Sorting Hat surely knew what it was doing after all this time. Right?

Not quite half of the first years had been Sorted when Gryffindor House gained a small, fat boy whose appearance and unfortunate name ("Portendorfer, Hubert") were strongly reminiscent of Neville Longbottom. Harry couldn't wait to meet the boy. Shortly after, a pair of twins-"Raynott, William" and "Raynott, Priscilla"-were sorted into Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

"Interesting," said Harry.

"Wha'?" asked Hagrid.

"Er, nothing. Sorry. Forget it." He hadn't meant to speak aloud, and honestly, at this point he couldn't be certain that the divided family members had any significance. Tonight, he'd speak with Professor McGonagall, to sate his curiosity, at least.

Finally, the last girl to be sorted jumped down from the stool as the Sorting Hat's cry of "GRYFFINDOR!" echoed across the Hall.

Professor McGonagall rose from the tall golden chair at the center of the High Table, and raised her hands for attention. The students fell silent, all eyes on her. "Welcome," she said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our meal, I would ask that each of you join me in thanking our chefs-Hogwarts' very own house-elves."

Harry leaned toward Hagrid. "What-?"

A trio of house-elves, wearing aprons and chef's hats, appeared with a loud CRACK! in front of the High Table, looking rather nervous. Professor McGonagall began to clap, and soon everybody joined in. As the applause died down, she looked sternly over her spectacles at the house-elves, and said, "Thank you, and your fellows, for your services, and for those to come this school year."

"Of course, Mistress McGonagall," said the one in the middle.

"We live to serve, Mistress," said another with a low bow.

The last one shook his head, eyes wide. "Thank _you,_ Mistress."

And then with another sharp CRACK! they vanished again. Harry thought of Hermione-of S.P.E.W-and knew this ritual because of her influence. She was hard at work in the Ministry, fighting for the rights of magical creatures across the world, and had revolutionized the wizarding world already through her efforts, although she was quick to remind everyone that there was much more work to be done.

Then, he stopped thinking of Hermione, for the dishes in front of him had filled suddenly with every kind of food imaginable, and he couldn't shovel it all onto his plate fast enough.

"Blimey, Harry, leave some for the rest of us, won' you?" said Hagrid, laughing.

"Look who's talking," Harry replied, for in each of his enormous hands, Hagrid held chicken drumsticks, tearing off long strips of meat from them with his teeth. His golden plate was bursting with food. "Anyway, Hagrid, how have you been?"

"Well," said Hagrid, "I've been doin' a bit o' readin' this summer, a book Hermione lent me, see-it's a school book of hers, called _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ Ever heard of it?"

"Sure, I had to read it in my first year, with Professor Quirrell. I can't say I remember much about it, though." Harry chewed thoughtfully on a bite of roast. "D'you like it?"

"O' course!" said Hagrid. He likely would have said more if he wasn't interrupted by a soft, misty voice from further down the table.

"Harry Potter, returned to Hogwarts once again."

Harry leaned forward to spot the speaker around Hagrid's bulk, and saw Professor Trelawney's large, bespectacled eyes peering back at him. Although he hadn't liked her much as a student, he forced a friendly tone. "Hello, Professor Trelawny. Did the Headmistress tell you I was coming?"

"Oh," she said, her voice ethereal as ever, "no, not Minerva. I Saw your return, of course, I knew to expect you back this year, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"It doesn't take a Seeing Eye to know that," said Harry. "The position was the only one open this year."

"Well," said Professor Trelawney haughtily, "I only wanted to _congratulate_ you, and offer my help in the troubles I predict you'll face in the coming year. But it seems you don't need any help." She sniffed, and retreated out of sight behind Hagrid.

Harry sighed, rubbing his nose where his glasses were perched. His sharp tongue had gotten him into plenty of trouble as a student. Was he really going to let it affect his relationships with his colleagues?

"Hagrid?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you switch me places?"

Hagrid blinked. "Er, yeah. 'Course." He stood, sending his chair scraping back against the stone.

Cringing, Harry stood as well, taking Hagrid's seat while the huge man shuffled over and sat. "Professor Trelawney," he said, and she turned, narrowing her eyes. "I didn't mean to offend you. I appreciate your offer, and your warning. Can we start anew?" He offered his hand.

For a moment, she just looked at him. Then she accepted his hand, and shook it tightly. "Consider it forgotten. And, Harry?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Call me Sybill."


	7. The Fickleness of Fame

A/N: I don't usually do these, but the tremendous gap between chapters six and seven merits an apology. I'M SO SORRY! I have lots of excuses but really, I should have prioritized better. Thank you for your patience, I've taken enough of your time-enjoy!

-BPBookworm

* * *

Chapter Seven

"So, Sybill," said Harry as the treacle tarts and puddings before him faded into nothing. "Who are the current Heads of House?"

"Filius and Pomona are still Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, as I'm certain you know. The new Head of Slytherin House is Kanon Kickepenny, an old friend of Minerva's. He used to teach at Beauxbatons, from what I've heard, but she convinced him to come here at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. All the better for him, you know. I Saw a terrible fate awaiting him if he'd remained!" Trelawney nodded knowingly.

"Ah," said Harry. He'd never really known what to make of Sybill Trelawney's supposed ability to see the future. Hermione and Ron thought her a fraud, and indeed she seemed to be, but according to Dumbledore, she'd delivered at least two very real prophecies. Mightn't she have made more? He cleared his throat. "So, what does Professor Kickepenny teach?"

"Transfiguration, and he knows nearly as much as Minerva herself. Why, I-"

Trelawney paused, looking up. Harry followed her gaze, noticing the silence that had fallen through the Great Hall. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stood tall and poised behind the stand, staring severely over her spectacles at the hundreds of students before her.

The Headmistress raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat. "Welcome, students, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Whether it is your first year, or your last, my words are for you. Now, we are privileged to welcome three new teachers to our staff this year, and hopefully for many more to come. Professor Lorene Little, if you would stand?"

Down the table, a tall young woman with dark skin rose gracefully. Her black robes boasted the Gryffindor crest, and she was beaming.

"Professor Little will be teaching Muggle Studies, and is Head of Gryffindor House," Professor McGonagall continued. "Although this is her first year, I expect you all to show her the same respect you show me. Is that clear?"

Various murmurs rose from the students.

" _Is that clear?"_

"YES, PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL," the students said almost in unison, their united voices reverberating off the walls of the Great Hall.

"Thank you," said Minerva. "Now, a round of applause to welcome Professor Little, please."

"So she's the Head of Gryffindor House!" said Harry, clapping enthusiastically. "How'd she manage without having taught before?"

Hagrid harrumphed. "Professor McGonagall likes her, I reckon." His tone was dark, and Harry turned to him, startled.

"You don't?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Somethin' about her just don' seem righ'. May not be anythin', but it don' hurt to keep an eye out, eh, Harry?"

Nodding thoughtfully, Harry tucked away the observation and returned his attention to the Hall. Now an older man was standing on Trelawney's other side, his dark eyes scanning the students before him. More than one shrank away from his piercing gaze.

"Professor Reem will be teaching Alchemy, due to popular demand-" The Headmistress was interrupted by a cheer that rose up amid the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. "For sixth and seventh year only!" she said firmly.

Some students wilted, but most of them settled back in their seats, looking delighted.

"He will also be teaching Apparation-again, this will only be available to those who are of age. A round of applause, please, to welcome Mr. Augustine Reem."

Obediently, the Hall burst into applause. Once it died down, Minerva continued.

"And lastly: Mr. Harry Potter, would you please stand?"

As Harry rose to his feet, the Great Hall burst with cheers and applause, far more loudly than for either of the other new teachers. The Headmistress allowed them to clap and yell for a moment, then raised her hands for silence. It didn't come.

"I love you, Harry!" screamed a group of Gryffindor girls toward the back of the Hall.

He stood stiffly as Minerva tried to regain control. "Professor Potter will be teaching-oh, hush!" she shouted, frustrated. "He'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

The clamour grew steadily-no one was paying her any attention, except perhaps the muggleborn first years. Finally, to Harry's relief, Hagrid pushed back his chair and stood, slamming a great fists on the High Table. "QUIET!" he shouted.

And amazingly, the rows of students settled down.

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Minerva with a smile. "And you, Harry-you can sit."

He did.

"We are in for a wonderful year," she continued, "but for now, I'm certain you're all quite exhausted. So in closing, let's make it a year of acceptance and inter-House friendship." She waved a wrinkled hand. "Off to your dormitories, then. Your studies shall resume in the morning! Let us hope you retain some remembrance of last year."

With that, students began rising from their benches and making for the great wooden doors of the Great Hall. Minerva remained standing, and the rest of the teachers still sat, so Harry didn't move.

Hagrid leaned over. "D'you have a free period tomorrow?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "three o'clock."

"Wan' to join me for tea?"

"Yes, please!" He'd been wondering what to do during his free time, since he already had his lessons planned out for the next few weeks. "I'll come down to your hut then."

"Perfect," said Hagrid, grinning.

The last of the students had exited the Great Hall, huge wooden doors falling closed behind them. Only the teachers were left, still seated at the High Table, and the Headmistress, who turned to face them.

"Thank you, Professors," she said warmly. "I know, it's been a long evening and you're likely all eager to get to your beds, but I'd like a few more minutes of your time. As you know, I've managed to fill the remaining teaching positions at long last. Lorene Little, Augustine Reem, and Harry Potter will make excellent additions to our staff.

"Now, here at Hogwarts, some of your best allies may be found in your fellow teachers," Minerva continued. "That goes for all of you, especially those who have only been here a few years. I remind you that I am always available to aid and advise you-yes, even you, Horace."

Professor Slughorn had been sitting rather pompously, as if to say he was above such things as asking anyone for help, and at Minerva's words, he turned a light shade of puce. "Oho," he said. "Is that right?"

Minerva gave him a stern glare over the top of her spectacles, and he wilted. Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling at the exchange.

Merlin's beard, it was good to be home.

A few more moments of speaking, and Minerva dismissed the professors. "Feel free to get to know one another," she said as she strode down the steps of the Great Hall. "I'm off to bed. I already know far more about each of you then I'd like to." With that, she threw open the great wooden doors and exited the Great Hall, her footsteps echoing in her wake.

Silence.

Then: "She certainly knows how to make an exit," said one of the new teachers dryly.

That seemed to release the tension holding them in place. As the other professors began to stand, stretch, and mingle, Harry pushed back his chair and stood as well, waiting for the onslaught of attention that would come.

"Hagrid," said Trelawney, patting Harry's shoulder as she moved past him, "walk with me, will you? I've been meaning to ask if I can borrow some Ermagen Leaf for one of my classes…"

Harry watched as they descended the steps. A tug at the elbow of his sleeve drew his attention down-far down, to where Professor Filius Flitwick stood beaming up at him.

"Well done, Harry!" he squeaked. "Just where you belong, it is! A Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows what he's doing and won't be scared away-at last!" He shook Harry's hand enthusiastically. "Marvelous, simply marvelous!"

"Thank you," said Harry, and then someone else was seeking his attention.

"So _you're_ the famous Harry Potter," said a deep female voice. He turned just slightly to see a tall, curly-headed woman with bronze skin and black eyes. He'd been to far to see her earlier, but up close she was breathtakingly pretty and looked to be a few years older than he.

"That's right," said Harry, finding his voice. "And you must be Lorene Little."

She held out her hand, and he shook it. "I was in Gryffindor, too, although you probably don't remember me. I was in fifth year when you were in first, and spent most of my time in the library, studying." She lowered her voice as if to share a secret. "They think I'm obsessed with Muggles. The truth is, I'm fascinated by their electricity-I've made some breakthroughs that will blow the socks off these technologically stunted wizards. Soon, Hogwarts I'll tell you all about it later, if you'd like."

"Oh," said Harry, "well-"

"Harry Potter!" boomed Slughorn, butting in. "Good to see you again, my boy!"

Harry found himself feeling annoyed, but shrugged off the feeling. "Er, good to see you too, Professor."

Lorene gave a wry smile and a little wave, and then she was gone. Disappointment washed over him, and it was with great effort that he turned to the rest of the group.

"Well done, Harry," said Madame Hooch, nodding at him as she passed.

"Nice to meet you, Harry Potter," said a man who looked as if he were half troll. He was just shorter than Harry, but he was broad-shouldered and solid, his thick brown hair tied into a knot at the top of his head. "Verturius Black, Arithmancy."

"Black?" asked Harry, but Verturius was already stepping aside for a wizened old man who extended a frail hand.

"Harry… Potter," he wheezed as Harry carefully shook his hand. The old man leaned on a thick, unornamented cane with a slight curve at its top. His hair was stark white, his face clean-shaven and wrinkled. "You are a hero. I… am honored to be in your presence." His accent was reminiscent of someone else Harry knew-Fleur Delacour Weasley.

"You must be Kanon Kickepenny," said Harry.

"Why, yes!" The old man's eyes widened. "How-"

"Sybill Trelawney told me about you."

"Ahhh," said Kickepenny slowly. "Indeed. Well, I've taken too much of your… time already, I'm sure. I look forward to speaking with… you again, Mr. Potter."

"Call me Harry. And the same to you," said Harry as the old man turned and began to shuffle away. After a few steps, Flitwick took one of Kickepenny's arms, helping him down the steps. Harry smiled. He liked Professor Kickepenny already, though it was easy to imagine students dozing off in his class.

Another group was walking toward him now, two witches and one wizard, who Harry recognized as Augustine Reem. He resisted the temptation to check his watch, although the room was now mostly empty of teachers. With a resigned sigh, he pasted on a smile and went to greet the newcomers.

" _You're_ Harry Potter?" said one of them. She was nearly a head shorter than he, with long blond hair and blue eyes. Emblazoned on the chest of her robes was the Ravenclaw House crest. She chuckled. "Somehow I thought the Saviour of the Wizarding World would be a little more… impressive. And the beard! Merlin. It's disappointing, really, when legends don't quite measure up." Her simpering smile was infuriatingly reminiscent of Bellatrix Lestrange's.

Reem snickered, watching Harry for a reaction. The other witch looked slightly apologetic, but remained silent.

Harry bristled. "Sorry I don't meet your expectations," he said, "but then, you hardly meet mine."

"What do you mean?" said the witch.

"For a Hogwarts professor-and a Ravenclaw at that-you haven't much wit at all. The Headmistress must have had such a laugh at you during your interview that she couldn't think of denying your students the same pleasure," said Harry coolly, turning on his heel. A thrill went down his spine as he listened to her disbelieving gasp. He hadn't had reason for such immature displays of sass in Merlin knew how long, and he'd forgotten how good it felt to speak his mind.

He continued from the room, a skip in his step, and put a hand to his beard almost subconsciously. It didn't matter what that witch said. Ginny found the facial hair attractive, and that was what mattered. Not to mention that it helped him look less like the Boy Who Lived and more like an ordinary wizard.

He paused in front of the display case, admiring his father's name on a trophy, and his own on another. Quidditch, he could accept publicity for. In fact, he loved being complemented and fawned over for his relationship with Ginny. The fame he resented was always directed toward Harry Potter, the Chosen One. That was who his students would look forward to being taught by. But hopefully by the end of this week, he'd show them that there was more to him then the "saviour of the wizarding world."

As he moved on, Harry allowed himself to feel somewhat sorry he'd left the room in such a hurry. There had been other professors he would liked to meet. But he supposed there would be time for that tomorrow, and besides, his exit had allowed him to cement the insult to that nasty witch.

The empty hallways echoed with the sound of his shoes on the stone floor. Harry found himself wondering just who, exactly, he had just insulted and whether he'd come to regret it. And who was Verturius Black? Some cousin of Sirius'? The Black family was known to be extremely proud of their "pure blood", which Harry was beginning to think was all nonsense anyway, although that might be Hermione rubbing off on him. She'd been reading into wizarding history, and according to a number of her books, all wizards were descended from Muggles. Every last ancient wizarding family could find their roots in non-magic peoples. Which rendered the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry, as well as everything Voldemort had stood for, null and void. There was no such thing as blood purity. It-

Harry paused, turning. He'd thought... A shadow, something moving just outside of his vision? But, no, there was nothing there now. Eyes narrowed, he scanned the corridor behind him, then turned back. Nothing but stone floors and walls, and arching windows along one side.

"Merlin's beard," he murmured. He'd be as bad as Mad-Eye Moody if he kept this up. Though it _had_ been a long day, and it _was_ late... No, he just needed to get back to his office and get some rest. Still, he was certain something had cause that shadow…

Harry let out a huge yawn, and continued walking. Tomorrow, he would investigate further. For now, he had classes to teach in the morning.

Finally, he reached the moving staircases, and climbed onto the nearest one. He found himself smiling as the staircase began to move, swinging slowly over to the second floor landing. The magic of the moving staircases had been Harry's first clue as to just how incredible a place Hogwarts castle was, and even now it filled him with delight to grip the railing and watch the staircases above him transition from side to side. His staircase hit the landing with a jarring impact. He climbed up the the next, his legs growing tired, and nearly forgot to step over the trip step. At the last second Harry adjusted his step and hurried up the staircase unhindered.

When he reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, he stuck his wand in the keyhole of the door, which had been adjusted to fit the first few centimeters, and murmured, "Alohomora." With a faint click, the door swung open. Only he, Professor McGonagall, and Filch-with a special key-could unlock this door.

Harry strode inside the classroom, his eyes catching on the great chandelier at the ceiling's center. He loved this classroom. Six different teachers had stood at that chalkboard during his years as a student, and two more since then. Countless others before-and now he, Harry, would join them. A thrill of excitement filled his chest as he turned to observe the classroom from a new perspective, looking down across the rows of empty desks before him.

Hermione, as usual, had been right. This was precisely where he needed to be.

Quietly, he spoke. "I'm home."


End file.
